Still in My Room

How it Feels to Have My Place Back

I wonder was my mother scared of me;
I think she was expecting someone less.
By far the youngest in her family,
she never thought I’d bring her so much stress.
I wasn’t good at tractable or sweet.
She called me lazy, selfish, and effete.
She said I must behave or be ignored.
I tried to be compliant; I was bored.

My story’s not unique. I had a choice:
behave or be alone. I chose the last.
I hunkered in my bedroom. She harassed,
but I enjoyed my solitude and voice.
(I thought I was too odd and spoke too fast,
but maybe I was lovingly miscast.)

(Pushkin Sonnet)

This entry was posted in Home, Personality, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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